


the shrine is peaceless

by meggsy



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 3 Sentence Fiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:44:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggsy/pseuds/meggsy
Summary: feeling alienated by religion





	the shrine is peaceless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [3 sentence ficathon](https://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/139838.html) over on DW!

**i. all stars and dreams and sunsets die**    
Pelor's light has long forsaken Whitestone. Casssandra murmurs the prayers her father taught her, but the Sun Tree remains dead and gray, bare boughs casting skeletal shadows in the dim light that filters through the fog. Delilah smiles thinly and Sylas's grip tightens around Cassandra's shoulder; there is no salvation coming, not from the gods, at any rate.  
  
 **ii. the desolate heart and soul**  
"If you'll have a soul, take mine," Percy says into the tomb's ancient dark, a half second before the same plea leave's Vax's mouth; there's no heat left to leech from Vex's still body but Percy still remembers the hearth-like warmth of her hand in his.  
  
His shadow shakes its head at him, glacially slow. "Why would what's left of yours be worth hers?" it asks, echoed by the faintest sound of rustling feathers.  
  
 **iii. the flower-like burden of thy hands**  
Raishan howls and the world around her almost shatters as the curse burns through her torso, her fingers ripping into the spellbook she's reading. Curse the druids, curse the gods; Melora and every last one of her followers will pay, once she finally has her cure. She's close, so close, and  _nothing_ \--not those meddlesome 'heroes', not the last of Thordak's secrets that have eluded her for so long--is going to get in her way.  
  
 **iv. faithful soul**  
Scanlan's winding walk through the trees is quick and decisive, like he's following a compass that only he can see. Percy exchanges a sour frown with Keyleth, who seems just as put out as he is.  
  
 _Him?_  she mouths, and he can only shrug before giving the radiant sun above a pointed glare.  
  
 **v. undying hour of fire and light**  
Vecna is a God in every sense of the word; the world warps around him as he sees fit, bleak light that sears and sunders radiates from his form, more primal and more powerful than anything ever unleashed upon the Material Plane--he is a God, but they are Vox Machina.  
  
"Chapter One," Keyleth says, held aloft by resplendent wings, "The rites of banishment are ancient and powerful. They cannot be stopped by anyone, not even a God."


End file.
